THE BRIDGE TO COLLEGE
Medical School Applications: What Most People Get Wrong
The dreaded medical school application process. The chances are slim, they say. The process is grueling, they say. Some even try to avoid the Medical College Admission Test (MCAT) by pursuing a BS/MD, which frankly is even harder to obtain.
Yet at the core of this dystopian logic, a misunderstanding accelerates the fervor and the fever. Most make a critical mistake.
To be highly successful in applying for a medical degree, you should understand the fit between student and prospective school. Understand what kind of doctor you wish to be and also understand how the school “does what it does.”
Certainly, great grades in core college classes make a difference. No doubt, a near-perfect MCAT score gives you an advantage over an acceptable one. Great recommendation letters? Yes, those are important. A profound resume of healthcare experience really helps.
But that “stuff” will be submitted to a lot of schools, and only a few are likely to seriously consider you. What makes the difference?
It’s not necessarily the pieces that matter. Rather, the foundation of a successful application effort is a simple two-part philosophy: know thyself and love the neighbor you wish to learn from.
In an effort to maximize everything else, self-reflection can be lost. The cyber world tells you that you must do research, but if you’re going to treat people – not work in a lab – does research really matter? While trying to dress for success, are you wearing clothes that don’t fit?
Slow down and think about what kind of practitioner you want to be. Do you prefer to be a clinician, a surgeon, or a researcher? Do you want to be on staff at a hospital, part of a medical group, or create your own professional environment? Do you know what discipline you wish to practice, and why (or, do you know what you do not wish to do)?
Somewhere deep inside of you, your reason for becoming a doctor is driving you forward. Unfortunately, most do not understand their own drives.
If you want to embrace alternative modalities, why not pursue Osteopathy instead of Medicine? If you want to do research, why aren’t you pursuing an MD-PhD? By the way – what is research, in your eyes? Wet lab and bench work? Epidemiological studies?
This stuff matters, not only because it’s what you really want to do, but also because each medical school has strengths and weaknesses. Sometimes the school develops because of a certain philosophy, while other times it grows by virtue of its history, perhaps a strong specialist or faculty leader, a generous grant by a donor who had certain goals, even by reason of marketing for reputation and money.
But usually, prospective doctors don’t pay good attention to either themselves or the schools to which they’re applying. Like the proverbial square pegs and round holes, they don’t fit together. And the admissions committees can tell.
Usually, people look at acceptance rates to blend their list. Often, they apply to medical schools that are statistically “easier” to obtain. But they seldom pay attention to fit.
For example, most students apply to medical schools at public universities as part of their pursuit. However, public universities are funded by taxpayers of that state and (usually) want future doctors who will stay and treat their citizens after graduation. Ask yourself: do I have any real connection to the State? If not, why would they want to train you, knowing that you won’t use their resources for the good of their people?
(Of course, for every rule, there are exceptions. Some public medical schools intentionally seek out-of-staters, for purpose of raising their reputation.)
All medical schools want to know that you understand and appreciate their strengths. If you want to practice with other professionals, does the school believe in and promote that method? Within the concept of medical practice, try to research the words “interdisciplinary,” “integrated,” “interprofessional” and other sound-alike terms and note the dramatic differences in those approaches. Are their interactions vertical or horizontal? Is it about patient-physician interaction, physician-physician interaction, or physician-professional interaction? Take a close look at how each school teaches, and why.
You will likely write dozens, even hundreds of secondary essays. The schools design their essay prompts to understand you and whether you are a good fit for them. If you understand both “you” and “them,” not only will your work be easier and more intelligent, but your results will be much better than if you don’t.
Robert LeVine is the founder and CEO of University Consultants of America, an independent educational consultancy assisting students around the world with applications to colleges, universities and graduate schools. For more information, call University Consultants of America, Inc. at 1-800-465-5890 or visit www.universitycoa.com
FAMILY MATTERS
Communities and Milestones
By Anu Verma Panchal
A few months ago, I had the good fortune to stand by my parents’ side as they celebrated a significant milestone, their golden anniversary. One of my favorite parts of the event was that in addition to uncles, aunts and cousins, we had with us their closest friends, the extended “framily” that had helped my parents recreate a sense of home and family when they were thousands of miles away from the place of their birth.
Circa 1980, with a toddler and 6-year-old in tow, my parents moved to a little town in Zambia called Kabwe. They knew no one and nothing about this new country beyond my dad’s offer letter and one phone call with a relative who had once lived in Africa.
But on their very first evening, there was a knock at the door. It was a young Malayalee couple with two little boys our age. Hearing that a new family from Kerala had arrived, they had stopped by to welcome us. From that one introduction, my parents were immediately absorbed into a group of friends.
The same thing happened every time we moved towns. The news of our impending arrival reached before we did, and we were pulled into existing Malayalee social circles. Our weekends were spent at each other’s houses, uncles in safari suits swilling whiskey, aunties in sarees holding deafening conversations while we ran around and played. As the years passed, my parents grew into the veterans who welcomed new families and organized the elaborate cultural events that gave the community a sense of home away from home.
And all around town – and across the South Asian diaspora – others were doing the same thing. In Tamil, in Bangla, in Hindi, they created communities that served a familial function for each other. Community building seems to be in our genes. Or, as a friend once told me, “We’re like goats ... we can only travel in packs.”
During the college years and in my early 20s, plugging into the local desi community was nowhere close to being a priority; in fact, I reveled in the freedom from it. It was irritating, even, to see the insularity that I imagined permeated those associations. Why move to another country and only hang out with the same people? Why not at least try to assimilate?
It was only when I became a parent that I found myself searching, maybe even yearning, for some small level of connection. I wanted my daughters to learn Bharatanatyam like I had, wanted them to celebrate Hindu holidays and go to the temple occasionally. Does that mean that I want my communities to be restricted by ethnicity, language or religion? Certainly not. I am blessed with close “framily” from many backgrounds, and I enjoy Gasparilla as much as I do Onam and Navaratri.
Yet I am grateful for the generations who came before we did and established everything from the Tampa India Festival to the India Cultural Center so that we now have the option to dip a toe, an ankle or our whole selves in cultural life if we so desired.
A week before my older daughter was due to leave for college, I took her on one of our habitual visits to the Hindu temple here in Tampa. By a happy coincidence, the pujari on duty that day was the same one who had presided on the day that we had taken her on her first temple visit when she was a 6-month-old baby. “You’re the one who carried her to the front of the room when she was born, and now she’s starting college,” I told him. He beamed. “Look at that!” he marveled.
Look at that indeed. That kind of continuity doesn’t just happen. It’s the result of hard work from a lot of people who came before us, many of whom we’ll never even know. The roots they put down gave us the luxury to pick and choose how much we want to hold on to, because some variation of it has been preserved here for us.